Twisted
by Barryium
Summary: At the Final Battle Hermione dabbles in peculiar magic and is catapulted into an alternate universe where the Order and her friends are bad, Tom Riddle and his followers are good, and Dumbledore is the Dark Lord. With Tom Riddle and Draco Malfoy having no hope left until her arrival, Hermione soon realises that things in this universe are just a little bit... twisted.
1. Chapter 1: Vincere Aut Mori

**This is a story that I've been thinking about writing for a while, ever since I read Reverse by Lady Moonglow, whose story has the same general concept as this one. I recommend that you read it, although there are only eight chapters and she hasn't updated in a few years... D:**

**I'm so glad that this chapter turned out to b so long, there was supposed to be more but I decided to cut the chapter in half. Let me know if you like it ;D**

**This chapter has been rewritten thanks to the very helpful input of Winterblume. To old readers, not much has changed – to new readers, this won't really affect you so you may read on...**

**Chapter 1: Vincere aut Mori**

_Vincere aut Mori_, she thought. _Conquer or die._ It couldn't possibly be anymore related to the situation that she was now in. She'd come to a crossroad in her life, she could either die or win, it was truly that simple. She had never had a choice in the matter, she was a Muggle-born and would therefore have to fight if she didn't want to be wiped off the face of the Earth. It wasn't fair, but it wasn't really a surprise either, she had known that this was her fate years ago and had been studying avidly for this final moment, where Death was nearly upon her, waiting for the green curse to hit her that would invite Him in.

She clutched the Resurrection Stone tighter inside her pocket, feeling the shadowy magic inside the Stone pulse and whisper things into her ear, secrets of death, meanings of life, cries for salvation...

Hermione released the Stone as if it had burned her. She was now the owner of the Resurrection Stone, having been agreed by both Harry and Ron that she was the least likely to abuse its powers between the three of them. After all, she hadn't actually lost any of her family members in the war.

Yet.

Harry had the temptation of seeing his parents and Sirius again, and Ron had lost Fred and was – agreed by both Harry and Ron – to be the least rational out of the three of them. Harry was still in possession of the Invisibility Cloak, and Voldemort was still the "master" of the Elder Wand. However, things were looking slightly better with two of the Deathly Hallows on their side and Harry's assurance that the Elder Wand's allegiance now belonged to him; but still Hermione wasn't optimistic about their chances of winning.

"Hermione, it's time," Harry started cautiously, bringing Hermione out of her reverie. She nodded slowly, but there was no mistaking the sudden glint of determination in her eyes.

"I know," she replied softly, looking up at her two best friends. They were crouched above the alcove leading to the Ministry of Magic's main chamber, which Voldemort had taken up as his permanent residence after the Battle of Hogwarts two weeks ago. Hermione had spent the two weeks planning this whole scenario, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Harry was better enough to go rush after Voldemort. She had studied the Ministry's blueprints studiously and was confident that her plan had catered for every possible problem short of a dragon crashing through the Ministry and eating them all – Voldemort included.

_Yeah, because winning this war would only be that easy_, Hermione thought wryly.

She clutched Ron's hand in her own and looked up at him, into his bright blue eyes which were looking down at her with tenderness. She remembered him during their first few years at Hogwarts, insensitive, emotionally immature, and a humour that was – albeit unintentionally – hurtful. He was so much more now, but still the same at the same time, he was a conundrum that sent her logical brain into a tailspin every time she tried to pinpoint what exactly made him seem different, yet also exactly the same as he was.

"Do you want to go over the plan again, Hermione?" Ron asked her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"No, Ron. Someone might overhear us, it's too important that no one knows what we are doing. And it's not really much of a plan anyway. Actually, it might not even work at all. How about we come back later, with the Order behind us we'll stand a much better chance."

"Come on, Hermione. You know that it's now or never, You-Know-Who won't be expecting an attack this soon after the battle at Hogwarts," Harry reasoned. "And he doesn't yet know that I am still alive, but he's bound to find out sooner or later if we keep putting this off. But Hermione – and you Ron too – can both leave now. I won't hold it against you, and it's-"

"Don't you dare, Harry James Potter!" Hermione hissed sharply. "We're all in this. Together. As a team. And as for a choice, Harry, you know just as well as I do that I have no choice in this matter. It's either that I take my stand alongside you two, or spend the rest of my life being hunted down for what I am. A Muggle-born."

Hermione heard Ron take a sharp breath inwards and he pulled her against his chest into a tight embrace. "I'll never let that happen to you, Hermione. They'll have to kill me before I'll let them get through to you."

His statement was followed by a sudden silence that lasted for only a few minutes before Ron took charge. "No more delaying," he muttered, and dropped down from the alcove. Hermione heard him give out a hiss of pain as he landed on the floor painfully, having obviously forgotten to cast a spell to stop his sudden descent. She shook her head in wry amusement, _that's my Ronald_. She thought, and warmth fluttered through her stomach as she gazed down at him fondly. He was rubbing his behind and scowling up at her and Harry's grinning faces.

"My turn," Harry said sliding over the edge of the alcove and hanging on with his hands so that he was dangling nearly five metres from the ground. She heard him pull out his wand and mutter an incantation before letting go of the alcove, with a soft _whump_ she knew that he had landed on the floor. She looked down at her two best friends, surprised to see that Harry was sitting on a pair of cushions he had obviously conjured up before his descent. Harry and Ron grinned at each other, before looking up at Hermione expectantly.

_Honestly, those two, _Hermione thought exasperated, before she too shuffled over to the edge and drew out her wand. She had obtained another one to replace Bellatrix's during the two weeks that they had been recovering, it had been risky, stealing down to Ollivander's in Diagon Alley, even in the middle of the night. But she was glad to have a wand would easily comply with her magic, one that wasn't tainted with darkness as Bellatrix's had been. Her new wand was strong, fast and reliable, made from rowan, it was eleven and a half inches with a dragon heartstring core, something that Ollivander had personally stated would "most definitely serve you well".

Her hands gripped the edge of the alcove as she slid her body over it so she hung limply, in plain view of anyone that should be inside the Ministry's Entrance Chamber. However, no one was there, just as she had suspected. No doubt most of Voldemort's Death Eaters were hunting Muggle-borns elsewhere or trying to locate the rest of the Order. Something that would either stop today, or go on forever.

_Vincere aut mori..._

She shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts and concentrated on drawing upon the well of power that was inside her. Her magic surged through her body, casting away the fatigue she felt after the lack of sleep she'd had the night before.

With a small smile to herself she let go of the edge and plummeted towards the hard floor. She had to time this just right, otherwise she'd be still too high off the ground for her spell to do much good, or hit the ground before her magic had taken effect. She looked down to the floor as she dropped, still in an upright position. Four metres left – three, two... _Now._

Hermione flung her arms out and channelled her magic outside and then around her body so that it would stop her fall.

_Arresto Momentum!_

Her magic took effect almost immediately, her descent slowing until her shoes stopped just inches off the ground. Slowly manipulating her magic, she descended the next few inches until her feet safely alighted the floor. Hermione looked up into her two best friends stunned faces. "You really should have paid attention in Charms," she said smugly.

"That. Was. So. Cool!" Ron almost squealed like a delighted child and beamed at Hermione, earning him a stern "shush". Then he turned to Harry and pointed at Hermione. "That's my girlfriend!"

Harry chuckled as Hermione blushed at the blatant pride evident in Ron's voice.

"Whoever said that Muggle-borns aren't adept at magic had obviously never met a Muggle-born as good as you, Hermione," Harry said grinning at her. Though his remark sobered her up, reminding Hermione that they were there for a reason.

Yet another moment of silence fell upon the three Gryffindors while they all sobered and inwardly prepared themselves for what might very well be their final farewell.

"I guess this is it..." Ron said, clutching Hermione's hand and looking from her to Harry and back again.

Hermione couldn't bear it how all of them stood looking at each other awkwardly and pulled Harry and Ron into a three-way hug. After a small moment of hesitation she felt Harry and Ron both hug her back tightly. "We'll always be best friends," Hermione whispered to both of them. "Even if one of us dies today. Promise me that you won't regret your actions if one of us dies..."

She felt Harry hesitate while Ron nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck and whispered, "I'll promise you anything, Hermione."

She looked at Harry, his deep green eyes were surveying her and Hermione could instantly see the inner conflict her request had left him in. Hermione knew Harry, she knew that even if he promised and one of them died, he'd never forgive himself and would live the rest of his life regretting it but she still wanted him to promise – promise that he wouldn't give up and at least try get his life on track after the war – that is, _if_ they won.

"Promise me, Harry."

Again, he hesitated. He really didn't want to give a promise to Hermione when he might very well break it; actually, if one of them died then he _would_ break it. Harry didn't want anyone dying for him.

"Fine – I promise."

Hermione smiled and hugged them both closer. Her boys – her boyfriend and her best friend. She loved them both so much, and the thought of surviving without either of them was unbearable. And so, when Harry and Ron began to pull out of her embrace she knew that a little part of her was gone with them and she needed them both back alive if she ever wanted to be whole again.

"I need to go to the Muggle-born Registration Office..." Harry started, referring to his part of the plan, as he took a few steps away from Hermione and Ron. "Remember, _when_ you're both done with your parts of the plan we meet downstairs in the Department of Mysteries. And Ron, this is especially important for you as your leading the breadcrumbs for You-Know-Who to follow, you need to remember to give me enough time to – well, to do what I have to do. Otherwise, I'll be ambushed when I go into the Department of Mysteries. But you need to be fast too, before all of his Death Eaters recover from your distraction and go to find You-Know-Who. And Hermione-"

"I know what I'm doing, Harry. I'm the one who came up with this ridiculously flawed plan, remember?"

Harry nodded. "Be careful," was all he said. Turning on his heel, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and drew it around himself as he hurried away. He disappeared before he'd even turned the corner, leaving Ron and Hermione alone to say their goodbyes.

After a quiet moment, Hermione felt Ron grasp her shoulders and turn her around to look at him. As she gazed up into his blue eyes and wished with all her being that they didn't have to do this, that they could just stay together and run away, leaving the war behind them. But that wasn't an option. It might've been at one point an option for Ron – one that he had obviously refused – but definitely not one for her.

Hermione hated this war.

"Ron," she started gently, but then trailed off not sure what to say. What could she say? Don't go? Run away with me? Go kick some arse? Hermione was stumped, how could she say goodbye to someone that she didn't want to leave her? Ron didn't say anything, he just gazed down at her with a tenderness that she had only seen once before – in the Chamber of Secrets – where they hadn't been sure that they would live to see another day.

"Ron-" Hermione tried again, but was immediately silenced when Ron leaned down and desperately slammed his mouth over hers. Hermione almost took a surprised step backwards, but stopped herself. She wanted to enjoy this feeling while it lasted, this feeling of utter contentment, of not needing anything else in the world except Ron to make her happy. It didn't matter that the kiss started as something clumsy and desperate because it evolved into something immeasurably better when Ron traced his tongue softly over her lips, requesting entry into her mouth with a tenderness that had her heart thrumming ecstatically. Hermione deepened their kiss, and their tongues danced together passionately in her mouth. She felt Ron clutch her to his body firmly, his arms folding securely around her promising safety, and she couldn't resist the urge to run her hands through his scarlet hair, ruffling it lovingly, feeling the velvetiness of its texture. _Why can't _my_ hair feel like that,_ she wondered abstractedly.

It was impossible to determine how long either of them stayed like that, breathing each other into themselves, memorising each others' faces with their hands gently. It was, however, too soon on both their parts when Hermione softly stepped back, effectively breaking their kiss. Both of their faces were flushed and they were panting heavily, both of them had barely breathed so that they wouldn't have to waste another moment with each other.

It took further minute before there breathing finally returned to normal and they just looked at each other: Hermione, with a sad smile; and Ron, with an expression of restraint – wanting only to pull her back into him and kiss her again and again.

Hermione nearly jumped in surprise when Ron fell to his knees before her, she whipped out her wand and scanned the room looking for the perpetrator that had made Ron fall. She hadn't heard anything and she hadn't seen a curse hit him,_ why had he fallen to his knees?_ She looked down at Ron to make sure that he was still okay, and found him gazing up with her with a resolute and stubborn expression on his face. He picked up her hands and caressed them fondly.

"Hermione..." He started huskily, then cleared his throat to start again. "Hermione, I know that we've known each other for years, and we've only been together for about two weeks, but I think that I've known for a while that without a doubt in my mind you are the witch for me." He smiled up at her tenuously. "And I love you. Heart, body and soul. All of them are yours now. And I think – no, I know – that after the war... I want to – to marry you... And live up in the hills in a place we can call our own but... I think that I – I need you to say that..." Ron frowned in exasperation when the right words didn't leave his mouth, and instead all that came was a babble of praise and dreams and hopes. Hermione grinned at his antics affectionately. _Her Ronald..._

"What I'm trying to say is-" Ron took a deep breath to steady himself. "We may have been together for two weeks but we've known each other for years and – Argh! Hermione, will you marry me?" He demanded finally, and Hermione felt the rest of the world fall away.

She could have been outraged that he'd asked her on the eve of the Final Battle, or she could have been sad that this war was what had forced him to have to propose to her in a vain attempt to keep their love – and lives – alive. She could have been happy too, it meant that their love wasn't just some sham that was caused by the heat of the moment or of convenience, it meant that he was willing to make their relationship turn into a future of happiness, of daughters named after flowers, and sons with short masculine names to appease Ron – both with fiery red hair inherited from their father.

What Hermione was feeling though was not something that could be so easily labelled by adjectives such as happy, joyful, reminiscent or sad. She felt like crying out of hopelessness, yet at the same time, weeping for delight. She felt like stomping her foot in frustration, but then hugging Ron in relief. She felt like screaming, and laughing, and then maybe a little more stomping for good measure.

"Hermione?" Ron stared at her as she remained silent; already he was starting to feel like he had done something stupid and rash. Had he moved too fast? Did Hermione not care about him as much as he had thought? Did she care about him at all? Was this relationship just one of convenience for her? More and more questions swirled maliciously around in his head, increasing his doubt and feeding his fears.

"Hermione?" He asked weakly. "Hermione – say something. Please." His voice came out half strangled and tinged with the fear.

Hermione decided her answer, knowing full well that it was probably best to answer after the war, but she had to say it now. Because, she realised, it meant more when they were in the heat of battle. She wasn't sure why, but if she didn't answer now then she would never be able to approach this subject from this particular angle. And she had to admit that this moment of passion in particular was the one that she wanted to remember for the rest of her life as the time when Ron and Hermione pledged to spend the rest of lives together.

_Til death would they part..._

She shuddered at the unwelcome thought which she sensed had come from the Resurrection Stone in her pocket, she pushed it away to the recesses of her mind before she answered Ron in a whisper. "Yes..." Hermione whispered, removing her hand from Ron's to stroke his face. "Yes, I will. I love you, Ronald Bilius Weasley."

She watched Ron's face change from misery, to shock, then to a look of utter joy that his whole face lit up with it. He jumped to his feet in exuberance before crushing Hermione to himself, smothering her lips, cheeks and throat with kisses all the while muttering "I love you... Love you so much... Thank you, thank you, thank you... I'll never let you down... Love you...".

A laugh bubbled out of Hermione at his enthusiasm before hastily placing a hand over her mouth to stifle it. They were still in plain sight of anyone that might come strolling into the Entrance Chamber, but nonetheless she was grinning as she pushed Ron away. "We have to get moving, Ron. Harry will be almost there by now, you have to go." She tried to sound stern but instead it came out in a breathy whisper as she tried to restrain laughter as Ron made a lunge towards her throat again, though she effectively swatted him away.

"Fine," he sighed, taking a reluctant step back. "But we'll be continuing this celebration with the family later..." Ron almost made it sound like a threat, and Hermione blushed as she caught onto what he meant by "celebration". It entailed a three course home cooked meal made by Molly Weasley, with all their family and friends in attendance, and Fred and George singing "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow" drunkenly by the end of the night. Nope, she was _definitely_ not looking forward to that...

And Fred was dead now too...

Ron bent down suddenly and gave her a quick peck on her lips. "For luck," he winked before hurrying away.

Hermione smiled absent-mindedly before turned towards the alcove. She had pulled the short straw on who would be setting up the wards so that no one – not even themselves– could leave the Ministry, at least, not until she or her wards fell. And Hermione was certain that her wards would not fall easily; she was also determined not to die easily either. Or at all, for that matter.

Quite ingeniously, Hermione had suggested that they prepare an interlocking series of amplification charms around the entire Ministry perimeter. They would not only significantly enhance the wards' strength, but would also help her ward completely encompass the entire building, meaning that every potential exit – evens ones that Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't know about – would be catered for with a considerably less strain on Hermione's magic then if she had simply cast a massive enchantment sealing all the exits. Hermione was powerful by most wizarding standards, but she was certainly not powerful enough to uphold such an enchantment on her own and then defend herself if she were to be attacked.

Hermione raised her wand and felt for her magic. It was still a torrent of power within her, urging for release, to be utilised for whatever she desired. She moved her wand in a gentle fluid waving motion in front of her, turning her wrist as she did so. "Protego Maxima... Salvio Hexia..." She began, feeling her magic flowing comfortably through her, threading itself into each of the protective enchantments together into a sturdy ward that she continued to strengthen.

"Repello Muggletum... Meteolojinx Recanto... Repello Magicalus... Protego Horibilis... Obsapio... Insideo Maxima... Salvus Presidium..."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry hurried through the deserted Ministry corridor that led to the Muggle-born Registration Commissions' Head Office. Every now and then, a Death Eater would turn into the corridor from an adjoining room or corridor and – although under the Invisibility Cloak – Harry had to press himself up against the wall to prevent from being discovered in the narrow corridor. But eventually, Harry made it to Dolores Umbridges' office.

The Ministry of Magic had been deserted by ministry workers ever since Voldemort had chosen to reside inside the building, they now worked at several of the Ministry's minor branches, scattered across Britain. The workers had left hastily and so there were still quite a lot of documents that had been left behind fortunately, though there were plans to have them distributed to the branches in the next few days. The only thing holding them back from having already done so was the lack of volunteers.

Harry slipped inside the office, not in the least bit surprised to be greeted by the ridiculously feminine room. The walls were a horribly bright shade of pink, dotted with pictures of kittens and other disgustingly cuddly creatures; Harry was half tempted to jinx the pictures so that they instead showed a big, fat, cuddly acromantula instead. _That'd_ _be a nice surprise for her,_ Harry smirked.

He pulled out his wand, but instead of jinxing the ornaments around the room, he tried to summon the Muggle-born reports that he knew were kept inside Umbridge's office.

"Accio reports," he whispered. Nothing in the room even stirred, which meant that it either wasn't in this office or was magically bound and so would not respond to the summoning charm. Harry sighed. Either way, he'd have to look for it by hand.

Harry started with pulling out the draws in the desk, finding nothing but quills, ornamental dolls, and ink pots. He moved on.

Harry made his way around the room, rifling through cupboards and draws looking for anything resembling a stack of parchments, before he finally stopped before a locked cabinet. It was – oddly enough – the only locked cabinet in the entire office, if those reports were to be anywhere, Harry decided, they'd definitely be in there.

"Alohomora," Harry muttered, tapping his wand to the lock. He directed his magic through his wand into the lock and waited for the lock to pop open. It didn't. Harry frowned and tried again, with the same result. He tried all the other unlocking charms that he knew before kicking the blasted cabinet until it fell over with a loud crash, causing Harry to wince.

Surveying the damage in front of him Harry winced again, there were quite a few big dents in the cabinet and a few of the draws fallen out spilling their contents onto the floor- _No way_, Harry thought, stunned. _It couldn't be this easy._ Before him all of the draws from the cabinet except for the top which was – evidently – the only locked one of the lot.

Getting down onto his hands and knees, Harry searched through the folders and stacks of parchment that had fallen from the draws. _Yes, _Harry thought, shuffling through them excitedly,_ these are exactly what I wanted_.

The reports of all Muggle-borns known by the Ministry.

Out of curiosity, however, he began looking through them, searching for Hermione's name. He had set fire to almost all of the reports he placed aside with a simple _incendio, _before he came across Hermione's. What he saw on it as he made his way down the information caused him to frown in confusion. It read:

_Name: __Hermione Granger_

_Status: __Alive; Muggle-born; Undesirable No. 6; Muggle-born Undesirable No. 1_

_Date of Birth: __19 September, 1979_

_Wand Stolen: __Vine, 10¾", dragon heartstring; Walnut, 12¾", dragon heartstring_

_Owner(s) of Stolen Wand(s): __Unknown (however most assuredly stolen); Bellatrix Lestrange_

_Reward for Information: __500 Galleons_

_Current Location: __Entry Chamber to the British Ministry of Magic, London, England_

_Other Notes: __Ms Granger has been Tracked ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, but any attempts to Snatch her have been thwarted as her location has become unknown whilst she resides within the Order's Unplottable Headquarters._

How could they have made Hermione Trackable? Especially without her knowledge? When could they have possibly have had a chance to do something like that in the middle of a massive battle?

Harry shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his head of the crowding amount of questions running through his head. It didn't matter, at least not at the moment. As long as Hermione remained alive and the plan worked, everything would be okay.

It was only when Harry was watching Hermione's report burn to scorched parchment and then disintegrate into ash, did he read the fine, small print at the footer of the page:

_Copy:__ 4 out of 136_

Harry felt his heart stop. They knew that she was here – perhaps even that all of them were here. He really hoped that Hermione had had time to successfully erect the wards before reinforcements arrived. And there would _definitely_ be reinforcements.

Harry stayed sitting for a short while in a stunned stupor, thoughts of panic and fear whirling around in his head. What could he do? Go find Hermione and warn her? No. He'd risk too much going to find her, and if he were captured... Harry shuddered. No one would be able to stop Voldemort. It would be over. He had to go on, as planned. It would be the logical thing to do, and Harry knew that Hermione would agree with him. He'd just have to trust that Hermione could fend for herself.

Harry looked down at the ash covering his pants where Hermione's report had lain.

It was all that they had left.

Trust.

**Love it? Hate it? Criticisms? Any mistakes? Feel free to review and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading**


	2. Chapter 2: Facta non Verba

**FINALLY! It is done! I hope that you enjoy and consider it worth the wait. I plan on starting chapter 3 straight away, but updates probably won't be for a while. Thanks to everyone that reviewed the last chapter: Miss Bee xx; Kalyxia; and TwinsConspiracy. Not many but I appreciate your comments nonetheless. Anyway readers, you know what to do! R&R!**

**And a special thanks to Winterblume, who supplied with enough feedback from the first chapter to inspire me to finish this one super quickly. You're awesome :D**

**By the way, the chapter title means "Deeds, not words" as in "actions speak louder than words". :)**

**So without further ado, I present to you...**

**Chapter 2: ****Facta non Verba**

"Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione's instincts kicked in almost instantly, dropping to the floor as a green flash rushed overhead. She hit the floor hard, feeling her ribs take the full brunt of her impact, effectively knocking the wind out of her. Almost immediately she started rolling, trying to keep her body in constant motion, the green Unforgivable's flashing overhead, missing her by several inches, before rushing through her wards behind her as if they weren't even there.

An onslaught of curses were let loose, and thankfully – from what she could tell – none of them were green; or, at least, the brilliant shade of green that the Killing Curse was cloaked in. They crashed around her, some of the faster curses burning her clothes, skin or hair at their proximity. _Three Death Eaters_, she noted over the distractingly loud thumping in her chest. Two of them she didn't recognise, but the third was Antonin Dolohov. The Death Eater that had hit her with a particularly violent curse back in her fifth year when Dumbledore's Army had broken into the Department of Mysteries.

Gathering her momentum, she flipped up into a kneeling position, with her right foot on the floor and her left knee down. She whipped her wand forward and made the necessary wand movements quickly.

_Auxilirius._

A thick aquamarine shield formed in front of her, enduring a barrage of curses and hexes that the three black robed men threw at her. As her shield was hit by more and more spells it began to grow darker and darker, taking an almost reddish tinge. With another wave of her wand she dropped the shield before it could implode upon her, before flicking her wrist forward in a violent swipe.

_Aggresser._

A volley of eight blue marble-sized spheres rushed out of her wand, growing in size until they were almost a foot in diameter and floating towards Hermione's attackers. The Death Eater's raised shields in anticipation but the spheres just continued to hover above their defensive enchantments almost nonchalantly, waiting for a victim to drop their shield before detonating.

It was a clever battle spell that she'd come across in an old book in the late Mrs Black's old room, which drained very little of her magic and packed a lot of power the longer they stayed without detonating. The opposed wizard would find it increasingly difficult to maintain a steady shield _and _attack as well for it drained so much magic. The only alternative for them was to flee and find someone to shoot them out of the air before they could detonate. Urged by a sudden whispering in her head, she grinned at Dolohov and chose a particularly Dark spell that she had learnt from her studies for trying to find defences against Dark magic before whipping her wand in an upwards sweep followed by a brutal jabbing motion forward.

_Mallarda!_

A wave of opaque solid force rose before her, in the likeness of a tsunami. It crashed forcefully down upon all three of the Death Eater's shields. And suddenly, Hermione was a part of the wave. Probing and pressing the protective enchantments barring her from her prey, searching for a weak spot, a crack, a falter. The man on her right hastily began moving his wand in an effort to reinforce his defences. He should have taken his time. His wand slipped in his sweaty grasp in the midst of a wand movement and his shield faltered for a split second. It was all that she needed.

She heard a muffled scream as the shield collapsed and the caster's throat buckled inwards as she struck at it. Hermione was not only within the wave, but some horrifyingly bloodthirsty part of her was actually _controlling _it too; she could feel his arteries and teeth popping out from the pressure she applied, his muscles being twisted and wrenched as she pinched them off of his bones, his eyes melting and running like tears down his face as she applied copious amounts of heat to his face. And still Hermione wasn't satisfied with his pain, avoiding all major organs to prolong his existence-

Abruptly, she managed to wrench herself back into a proper state of mind, falling to her hands and knees as the sense of euphoria ended. She felt very suddenly sick, retching as the opaque wave of magic dissipated into little more than a slight breeze before the room fell still. Hermione looked up weakly, Dolohov and his friend had a series of very large cracks in their respective shields and her Aggresser spheres floated closer expectantly as Dolohov's wavered slightly.

They were in a stalemate.

"The little Mudblood's been dabbling in Dark magic," the brown haired Death Eater next to Dolohov stated coolly, stepping forward. "Did you enjoy the power, Mudblood? Remember it, because once the Dark Lord is through with you-"

"Wickers!" Dolohov said sharply, cutting into the brown-haired Death Eater's tirade. "Do _not_ lower your shield! I've duelled the little Mudblood before and she's more resourceful than you'd think."

Wickers turned to Antonin Dolohov with an eyebrow raised and Hermione realised sadly that none of the Death Eaters had been wearing masks. She'd noticed that little fact earlier as she had quickly identified Dolohov, but she hadn't actually _realised_ the importance of that little fact. The Death Eater's weren't afraid anymore, they had no reason to be hiding behind masks as they were now definitely on the winning side.

"Hermione!"

Hermione sat up with a start at the sound of her own name being shouted out by someone behind her. Hesitantly, she turned away from the Death Eater's to look at the owner of that deep familiar voice.

Behind her ward stood Professor McGonagall, Arthur and Molly Weasley, and Kingsley Shacklebolt – the one who had shouted her name. Kingsley made a move to step forward but the Hermione's ward shimmered dangerously into sight, small streaks of lightning fizzing out at all angles before Shacklebolt took a step back in surprise and it faded out of sight again.

"Hermione," Arthur said urgently, as Hermione stood up shakily on her two legs. "Quickly help us take down this ward so that we can help you!"

Hermione shook her head slowly, stomping her feet in an attempt to get the blood back into her legs, her legs were sore as if she had been sitting down for a week. "That wasn't part of the plan, Arthur." She said solemnly.

McGonagall – as usual – was the first to catch on. "You cannot be serious! Miss Granger – _Hermione_! Use logic! You can't possibly think that you three can face Him on your own!" Arthur and Molly's expressions of bafflement soon turned to ones of horror; but not for the reasons that she thought, well, at least, not yet. Behind her, Wickers raised his wand and let loose a purple curse that broke through his shield and hissed like a dying cat as it sped towards Hermione's back.

Four defensive spells passed through the ward and rose up to block the curse before it reached Hermione, standing strong against the impact and the resulting explosion as the _Aggresser_ orbs detonated, causing Hermione's hair to be whipped back wildly and Dolohov's shield to shatter as he was thrown back against the wall on the other side of the room, where he stayed, slumped and unmoving.

Hermione reacted quickly, taking his wand and binding him with ropes with quick flicks of her wand, trying not to think about the fact that she'd just killed two people. They may have been Death Eaters, but they'd still had families, and friends... and...

_They were going to kill you... _Something whispered in her mind.

Tucking Dolohov's wand into her bag, she quickly made her way further into the Ministry and away from the Entrance Chamber, providing a large distance between herself and the muggles who had been _Petrified_ into stone statues in the centre of the chamber. If she were to be caught she would face a worse fate.

"Hermione! Hermione, stop!"

"You'll be killed! Let us help!"

"Miss Granger, stop this ridiculous behaviour!"

Hermione expression turned pained as the voices of her fellow Order members became increasingly desperate in their pleas, but she could not afford any more time to be wasted. She ignored the tiny voice in her head telling her that it would be better to have the Order on their side when she, Harry and Ron battled Voldemort, but Harry had said to keep others out of it, and she trusted Harry with her life.

She hurried down corridors, glad to hear the bangs and trumpets in the distance that were part of Ron's distraction for the majority of the Death Eater's in an effort to lure them away from Voldemort. Twice Hermione was nearly caught: first time she hadn't checked where she was going and stepped around a corner and bumped straight into a Death Eater – a nice young man who seemed to be only a few years older than herself. He'd obviously been new to the Death Eater ranks as he apologised profusely for not watching where he was going before he recognised who she was. However, with a quick _Stupefy_ she was on her way again, feeling slightly guilty for treating the young man like a Death Eater.

_Although in my defence, he _was_ a Death Eater_, she thought to herself.

The second time had merely been a stroke of luck and caution as she'd heard many loud boisterous voices coming from a corridor perpendicular to hers and she'd hidden in what had appeared to be the room where they stored muggle fertiliser with the intention – she hoped – of researching its properties. Hermione had hidden in a crevice between two bulky packets of fertilizer. By the time that Hermione deemed that it was safe to exit her hiding spot it was fair to say that she did now have a certain... perfume to her person.

_Maybe it will stop Greyback from following my scent_, she thought with a wry smile.

She was too cautious of the enclosed space of the elevators within the Ministry and instead used the staircase, _Disillusioning_ herself into the stone wall behind her, she began a careful trip down the stairwell. Though apparently no one bothered to use the staircase anymore as she saw no one using it besides herself and she realised that no one used it for a very good reason.

Having lived most of the last six years of her life climbing down from Gryffindor Tower every morning to the Great Hall and all the back up again after dinner, Hermione could very well boast that she was very used to stairs and it was seventeen staircases and several muttered profanities later that she finally reached her destination.

The Department of Mysteries.

It had changed a lot from the last time she was in this department in her fifth year. Back then it had seemed eerie and abandoned, but now everything was different – the lighting was brighter, the area was not as clean and polished and _unused_ as it had once been. Hermione felt very sure that did not have anything to do with the battle that was waged here in her fifth year with her fellow D.A. member's. It looked a lot more recent.

She carefully made her way down the black marble corridor, passing doors that no doubt led to something peculiar and mysterious. She had at one point opened a door several doors back to find a full grown Siberian tiger who seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see it, before she had quickly slammed the door closed.

_All these secrets... Secrets to know..._

A voice hissed seemingly straight into her head. Hermione blinked and released the death grip that she had on the Resurrection Stone, and the voice that was whispering in her head left, fading off.

_Interesting, so the Resurrection Stone seems to not only Summon the dead, but communicate with them too. How curious. I wonder if perhaps there are other ways to cultivate its magic? Did the second Peverill brother know of the Stone's other abilities? Did he mean for it to do that? What am I saying? He probabl thought that it was funny to tamper with the taboos of life. I wish that I could create an artefact as powerful as this. After all, it's impossible that Death could actually have a physical manifestation and create the Deathly Hallows. Even more than impossible – it's ridiculous! So, most likely, the Peverill brothers must have had enormous magical skill to create objects of such a magical magnitude..._

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear the voices coming down the adjacent corridor until a hand wrapped itself around her mouth from behind and pulled her into a room and softly closed the door, enclosing the two of them in darkness.

Hermione twisted out of the remaining hand around her waist that was restraining her, having her wand out and trained on where she thought the Death Eater was in a heartbeat.

"_Incendio._" A billow fire escaped from the tip of her wand illuminating her surroundings and adversary for a brief second while her attacker raised a hasty _Protego_ charm, narrowly avoiding any burns.

"Dammit! Stop, Hermione! It's me!" The person hissed.

"Harry?" Hermione realised, relieved.

"You know it." He whispered. "Did you realise how close you were to being discovered, Hermione? Wait. Shh. I can hear them."

Hermione's eyes were just beginning to adjust to the dark when she heard the voices coming down their corridor, towards them. Moving next to Harry, who was already up against the door, trying to listen to what they were saying, a thought that had never really occurred to her when she had been hiding in the store room. Hermione pressed herself against the door and slid down next to Harry on the floor, trying to quiet her breathing so that she could hear what was being said.

"...yes, my Lord." A male though slightly timid voice answered some previously unheard question or statement.

"In the meantime, Lucius," a cold and disturbingly high pitched voice said, making Harry stiffen next to her and Hermione's blood run cold. "Bella and Draco here will keep me much entertained I hope, until you bring me the _perpetrators_." He hissed out the last word, making the hairs on the back of Hermione's stand and her fists clench in fear.

"My Lord," a third voice and Hermione realised with clench of terror in her gut that it was Dolohov. But how? How had he freed himself? Perhaps someone else had come across him? _Of all the luck_. She nearly groaned aloud, before remembering to pay attention to what was being said. Maybe he wouldn't mention her?

"Granger – it was the Granger girl, my Lord. Wickers, Nathaniel and I met her at the Entrance Chamber, my Lord." Hermione didn't miss Harry's sharp glance at her before he went back to peering through the door's keyhole.

"The mudblood, Dolohov? Potter's pet mudblood? Well, well. I would've thought that she was smart enough not to try to go against me alone..."

"She was not alone, my Lord. We caught her casting a ward over the Entrance Arch and no one has been able to leave or enter the Ministry since it was erected-" Dolohov began babbling again.

"Do not worry about the ward, Dolohov! I am the master of the Elder Wand, no ward cannot be overcome!" His voice was raised as he said it and after a moment uneasy silence, he began again. Calmly. "Now, tell me, Dolohov. Who was she with?"

"She was with no one, my Lord. But the Order members mentioned her coming with two others – before she escaped. She killed Nathaniel straight out and then cast a curse that I'd never seen before that waited for us to lower our defensive spells before it would strike, and that was what killed Wickers, my Lord. I was beating her easily until the Order members came, then I had to come inform you before I, too, would be killed."

_Liar._

She had been faring fairly well against the three Death Eaters before the stalemate – well, at least she thought so.

Hermione thought she heard a decidedly feminine yet harsh voice that could only have been Bellatrix utter a "filthy mudblood" under her breath as Voldemort stopped outside their door along with the rest of his entourage. "Your cowardice will be legendary, Dolohov. They will write songs of it I'm sure," Voldemort said in his high-pitched eerie voice.

"My – my Lord?" Dolohov inquired.

"You've been saying, Dolohov, that you were beating the mudblood until her Order friends came along to help her. Tell me, Antonin, how did they overcome the wards that the mudblood had erected? Especially if they were so powerful that none have been able to leave or _enter_ since they were in place?" Voldemort asked in an offhand tone.

Hermione shivered. She could tell that Voldemort wasn't pleased.

"I do not know, m-my Lord."

"But did you not just say that she was the one to escape? You remember don't you Lucius? Just before he said that he had to flee to save his own worthless life."

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius Malfoy blusteringly agreed.

"You see, Antonin? Even Lucius concurs with my judgement." Voldemort paused for a moment, and Hermione could feel a tense atmosphere engulf them. "I'm sure understand, Antonin, I do not appreciate people lying to me. I appreciate bad liars even less. People who feel the need to lie to me, do not have faith in me. And people who have no faith in me, will become deserters to our goal. And deserters are a liability that no one can afford."

"P-please! My-my Lord! Have mercy on my f-foolishness!" Dolohov begged. Hermione heard a dejected thump which was – she assumed – Dolohov falling to his knees.

"This isn't personal, Antonin. It's just that I don't like what you represent – or rather, _who_ you represent. Goodbye, Antonin Dolohov. Avada Kedavra."

A flicker of green light flashed under the door, and then nothing. There was no cry of pain, no thump as his body hit the floor, no gasps of surprise, just... nothing.

"Lucius, do not fail me. Go. Bella and Draco, come." Voldemort commanded tersely, as if it were their fault that he had had to kill one of his most subservient followers. Three sets of footsteps went to Hermione's right, continuing back up the corridor, whilst another set went left, no doubt Lucius going to try to find her or Ron. Distractedly, Hermione hoped Ron was still okay as Harry stood up, helping her up off the floor as well with a stretched out hand.

"I just about ready to panic before I saw you wandering down the corridor, Hermione. You really should be careful."

Hermione shot Harry a glare, but he was staring at something over her shoulder curiously. "Hermione," he started slowly. "Why is there a mannequin in the room?"

Frowning, Hermione looked behind her into the rest of the room. Sure enough, on a pedestal just a few metres away from them sat a adult sized wooden mannequin, its faceless wooden head tilted slightly upwards as if it were in deep thought. Hermione felt her lips twitch upwards into a slight smile. _No way_, she thought. _It's been locked up in the ministry for all this time_?

"It's one of the pseudo-golems of Almerick the Puppetmaster. He's famous for the puppets he created and animated to fight in the Goblin Rebellions in the 17th century."

"A pseudo-golem? As in, golem?" Harry queried.

"A golem is a sentient creature made from primary resources, like, stone, mud, clay, even crops. Or in this particular case – wood. But a pseudo-golem isn't sentient, it's animated – capable of following its masters decisions but not making any for itself. But I wonder what it's doing here? No matter, I'm taking it."

"_Hermione!_" Harry hissed as Hermione tapped it with her wand and shrunk it down until it was about a foot high before dropping it into her much smaller rucksack. "You can't just take anything you want from here. That's Ministry property!"

"Oh shush, Harry. You're beginning to sound like me. The Ministry won't know so long as no one tells them," she gave Harry a pointed look before continuing. "Now let's go. _Homenum Revelio._ Good, no one's outside. It's time to end this war."

Harry's face turned grave, but determined. "You're right, Hermione." He sighed reaching for the doorhandle. "Let's kill Tom Riddle."

**Sooooo, here it is. I didn't plan on updating until November, but I was bored and was able to finish the chapter. I actually meant for a lot more stuff to happen in this chapter but it turn out that way, it seems that all these ideas strike me while I'm writing and I just have to include them.**

**Next chapter will be the Final Battle, taking place in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. So in other words... a LOT of fighting. I actually usually enjoy writing the fighting parts, but now I'm just really anxious to get the storyline in motion. Oh well. If all goes well, that should start by the next chapter. In the mean time, you can drop me a review, or PM me to be updated on my progress with the story, otherwise I'll try to keep my bio updated.**


	3. Chapter 3: I Came, I Saw, I Died

**A/N: I believe an apology is in order. I said that I'd update November, and alas here we are in January, so sorry for the delay. Quite frankly this chapter was like pulling out teeth for me and I can only hope that this is only a phase that will soon phase out (see what I did there? Get it? Get it? Oh, never mind). Ideally, I'd like to start chapter 4 today, but that's not going to be realistic as I've been working almost full-time every week since school finished and finding a peaceful environment at home to write in is hard to come by. I should be getting a laptop soon, so that will definitely speed up production.**

**Also, thanks to these people for reviewing, you're all awesome (people who fave/follow you're awesome too dw): Lilabeth36, FallenCrimsonStar, Marine76, Dancing-Souls, Miss Bee xx, Kalyxia, Twins Conspiracy. :D**

**So without any drum-roll whatsoever, I present to you the next chapter.**

**Chapter 3: I Came, I Saw, I Died**

Harry and Hermione followed Voldemort, Bellatrix and Draco Malfoy down to the familiar circular room of the Entrance Chamber to the Department of Mysteries that they had first experienced with Dumbledore's Army in their fifth year. Twelve handleless doors stood around the perimeter of the room, reflected in the excessively polished floor to such a degree that it appeared to be made out of water. One door had been left ajar.

Cautiously, Hermione and Harry sidled up next to the door frame taking a quick peek inside to get a grip on the surroundings inside. It was the Death Chamber. Hermione shuddered. It seemed ironic to her, that the Death Chamber would be the standing ground of the Final Battle, the place where either both her best friend and herself were destined to die – or the Darkest wizard of all time.

Voldemort stood before the black curtain of the Veil in the Death Chamber some twenty feet below in the very bottom of the pit-like chamber, watching it flutter slightly as if disturbed by touch on the other side or from some nonexistent breeze within the room. Hermione remembered Harry saying that he heard voices coming from behind it back when they'd infiltrated the Ministry in their fifth year. She wondered what Voldemort heard from behind the Veil, whether it was the same voices that Harry had heard or different, perhaps they were the voices of the people he'd killed. Hermione felt an overwhelming surge of the pity for the monster standing before the Veil. She knew of his past, thanks to Harry, and the desperate mistakes of his mother that led a boy conceived under the effects of a love potion to be incapable of feeling love – in any shape or form.

Bellatrix prowled around the chamber, looking extraordinarily feral and feline as she waited impatiently for her master to provide her with some victims for entertainment. Whereas Draco Malfoy sat on one of the benches furthest away from both Bellatrix and Voldemort, clutching his wand tightly in one trembling hand. He looked as white as a sheet, and sweat covered his brows which were scrunched together in what Hermione recognised as signs of stress.

She looked to Harry, who nodded, and they both stepped into the Death Chamber, wands at the ready.

It was Malfoy who saw them first, since he was the only one facing the doorway, and he openly gaped at them, his mouth opening and closing silently as if wanting to say something but hesitating for some unfathomable reason. His wand hand twitched upwards to point at them.

"Hello Tom," Harry said, ignoring Malfoy and stepping down the stone benches to meet Voldemort at the bottom of the pit below.

Voldemort's shoulders stiffened, and he turned slowly to face Harry. He looked just as gruesome and scary as he had ever looked, his body skeletal and his skin pale and waxy, his nose flat and nostrils slitted like those of a snake, and red eyes, so very red that they could be more accurately described as being crimson – the colour of blood.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said slowly as if in a daze, and Hermione was sure that she saw a flicker of fear pass through his eyes. "You are dead. I killed you. You are nothing more than a ghost of the past now."

Harry shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, Tom, I'm not dead. Not anymore."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "The Resurrection Stone…" A low rumbled sounded overhead from the floor above them, but Hermione didn't dare avert her eyes.

"No, not the Resurrection Stone. It was the people I had to protect – the love I felt for them – something that is much more important than power and beyond the grasp of even magic," Harry began. "I've died, Tom, and I've seen what you will become – what will happen to you – unless you understand the evils you have committed. Death would be preferable by far. Feel remorse and become human again, otherwise it's an eternity of pain for you that will be inescapable – even by death."

It was the most that Hermione had heard Harry speak about what had happened to him when he had gone to what he had briefly described as 'Limbo' the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. The night that they had managed to fend off the Death Eaters. The night that they'd thought everything was lost with the discovery of Harry's corpse. The night that he'd come back to them.

A shrill screech of surprise bit into Hermione's brain as Bellatrix began bounding towards them looking feral and wild, her wand raised, almost poised for a curse. And then everything descended into madness. Voldemort and Harry began exchanging hexes and curses, with the occasional green spell making Harry dodge and counter swiftly.

She had narrowly avoided a vicious purple curse shot from Bellatrix before Hermione herself moved into action, sending a bright streak of blue in reply which Bellatrix deftly deflected. Hermione raised her wand again and brought it down in a sharp swipe. Half a dozen crescent shaped discs of yellow light whirred towards Bellatrix, their razor sharp edges slamming into Bellatrix's sturdy blue shield with so much force that it shuddered slightly, before Hermione's curse disintegrated into nothing.

Bellatrix – seemingly undeterred by Hermione's curse – smiled smugly and waved her wand. Bellatrix's shield glowed an even brighter blue, increasing in size and density until it exploded outwards. Large shards and chunks of Bellatrix's shield exploded out in every direction and Hermione found herself dropping to the floor to make herself a smaller target to hit. A misaimed curse slamming next to her jolted Hermione back into gear. She began rolling along the floor; curses slamming the space that had body had just vacated a split second earlier.

She needed to end this stalemate. Her stamina wouldn't last forever, nor would her momentum, and the second she were to slow down, she'd no doubt be dead. Desperately, she waved her wand over herself.

"_Ascendio!_"

Hermione felt her body being yanked into the air, rising ten, twenty, thirty feet into the air before she began her descent to the hard marble floor below. She noted frantically that it was easily a far enough to break her leg on the unyielding floor below, and she didn't exactly have the luxury of casting a suspension spell without being shot out of the air like a duck shot out of the air during open season. And then Hermione's brain began to whir into motion, if she could just change the direction of her momentum she could… yes, it should work.

Sending a _depulso_ to her left, Hermione felt her position and trajectory shift ever so slightly. Following up with a further seven _depulso_'s, Hermione felt her position move far enough to provide her with a safe landing, which, given the circumstances, wasn't that safe at all. She tucked her legs up under herself and prepared for landing.

Bellatrix's eyes widened as she watched Hermione's form bear down upon her. Her wand twitched in an effort to make a shield, but it was already too late. Hermione's knees slammed into Bellatrix's shoulders and the both fell to the ground, with Hermione sitting astride Bellatrix's torso. Clenching her fist, Hermione bashed it into Bellatrix's face. It was a fairly weak punch which probably had hurt her hand more than Bellatrix's face but it was still satisfying to see that it was Bellatrix's pride taking the blows rather than her face. She lifted her hand to deliver another punch as Bellatrix began to shriek.

Just as she was bringing her fist down again, a blast of wind knocked Hermione flat onto her back and skidding along the floor; blasting her again and again until she'd been sent a distance away. Thankfully, Hermione noticed that she still had her wand in hand, and so she quickly jumped to her feet to face her new attacker.

Draco Malfoy stood behind Bellatrix, wand still pointed at her. His hair was kempt and the familiar shade of platinum blonde that haunted her younger years at Hogwarts, now they were apparently to face off in what Hermione knew would be the Final Battle. Hermione felt her eyebrows shoot up as he stepped backwards and lowered his wand.

"She's yours, Aunt Bella."

Bellatrix Lestrange got to her feet slowly, eyes bright with rage. "I will kill you, dirty mudblood_ bitch_!" She shrieked at Hermione as she let loose a Dark curse that made Hermione's stomach roil by just looking at it, and she quickly dived out of the way and turned around to counterattack.

Hermione felt herself fall into a desperate pattern of wand movements as Bellatrix's onslaught of curses continued. _Swish, jab. Jab, swipe, slash. Twirl, jab. Wave, swish, twirl. Swipe, swish, flick. Twirl, jab. Swish, jab. Twirl, jab. Swish, jab. Twirl, jab. Swish, jab! Swish, jab! Swish, jab!_

"Little mudblood wench!" Bellatrix snarled "_Magna Tonitrus_." A jet of white lighting erupted from Bellatrix's wand, racing towards her. Hermione's eyes widened at the immense power behind it, and hastily made to raise a shield.

"_Auxili—_"

The white streak of lightning punched through her half-formed shield, like a cannonball fired through a thin glass wall, slamming into her chest and sending her tumbling backwards. She tumbled head over heels backwards until her momentum gave out, leaving her sprawled on her stomach and feeling exceedingly sick as the stench of burnt flesh stank heavy the air around her. Her left arm twitched and her legs kicked as her scrambled body tried to obey her brain's order to get up. She was in shock, she realised slowly. The electricity from the curse must have temporarily scrambled her nervous system. Sure enough, when Hermione tried to move her hand to get up, instead her leg bent at the knee.

"_Filthy mudblood, so cold and scared; for it knows it's not going an—nee—where; Another little mudblood, hidden under the bed at night; we dragged it to the stake for fi—er—light…_" Bellatrix began to sing, sauntering towards her with that maniacal spark in her eye and ecstatic grin on her face. She was singing one of the old nursery poems from medieval times when muggleborns had been hunted and burnt at the stake for – well, being muggleborns.

"_A sneaky mudblood tried to stay and fight; we gouged out its eyes to teeeeach it—right…_"

Hermione couldn't see Bellatrix very well from her position on the floor, but she had landed with her face facing upwards towards Bellatrix's position slightly, and although it was an extremely uncomfortable position for both her head and neck, she much preferred it over the prospect of being prostrate facedown and not being able to see what was coming.

Bellatrix finished singing, and raised her wand again. "Filth spawn," she spat, "actually thinking that you were a match for a real wizard. I have been trained by the Dark Lord himself; I know more powerful spells than your feeble mind could even hope to comprehend. _Avada—"_

"_Everte Statum!_" The hex had come from her left and hit her in the side, sending flipping into the air and letting out a sharp cry of pain upon impact with the floor. She was sure that the hex had fractured her left arm and cracked a few ribs, but that was preferable to the alternative. She looked up at Malfoy slowly, realising that the hex he'd thrown at her had not only righted her nervous system but had knocked her out of the way of the Killing Curse that had crashed into where she'd just been lying prone and helpless on the floor.

Draco Malfoy had just saved her life.

She almost felt a sudden surge of – affection? – for the blonde Slytherin that had tormented her since her first year at Hogwarts. Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps he'd been just as helpless in his involvement in this war as she herself had been. Or perhaps he was a double agent like Snape. Perhaps… perhaps if he stopped staring at her as if she'd just grown a second head then she could think straight.

_Think! Think!_

A wand! She needed her wand! Hermione looked around for it desperately to see where it had landed after being thrown from her hand after Malfoy had hit her. Ignoring the burning pain in her chest and the horrid stench that accompanied it, she began to drag herself towards it with painful slowness.

"What – do you think you are doing, Draco?" Bellatrix stared hard at the blonde youth, and Draco swallowed hard as his aunt's wand twitched towards him. One wrong or misplaced word and he'd be dead. If it was one thing he knew about his aunt, it was that she certainly had no qualms over killing family. He thought fast, he needed a good reason as to why he'd actually just saved the mudblood's life. But why had he done it? He didn't understand.

He glanced again at her weak form as she dragged herself away from them towards her wand. He should stop her, he really should – but he couldn't bring himself to lift his wand against someone so helpless, and a woman to boot. Yet that should have been voided by the fact that she was a mudblood – a stain upon the wizarding world, a threat to the order of nature, an unacceptable danger to all purebloods like him.

Another faint rumble sounded from overhead.

"I merely wanted to extend the fun, Aunt Bella," he said smoothly. "It would be a shame for the game to f-finish this soon, d-don't you think?" He tried not to stutter whilst retaining a composed look under his aunt's infuriated gaze.

"You had better not be lying to me, Draco. I would hate to have Cissy upset because—"

Aunt Bella's tirade was interrupted by an ungodly roaring sound coming from the ceiling ad everyone paused and stared up at the ceiling as it began to buckle and quake. Even Potter and the Dark Lord hesitated in their duel to stare at the ceiling suspiciously. What on earth could make such a racket?

Quite abruptly, a small portion of the ceiling exploded in a shower of mortar, marble and granite upon the centre of the room where the Death Veil was situated. And a body dropped from the floor above to in front of Veil with an audible crack signifying at least some broken bones. What kind of wizard could cause such a mess? Such utter disrespect for hundreds of years of wizarding architectural refinement?

Malfoy had his answer as the signature flaming red hair of a certain wizarding family emerged among the floating debris and dust – everything immediately making sense to him.

_Of course, a Weasley._

Hermione felt the hard wood of her wand under her fingertips, her hurried and panicked fingers fumbling for a proper grasp on the simple length of wood that suddenly felt as slippery as a wet bar of soap. Finally, her numb fingers closed around the wand and she desperately thought for a spell that would help her. She ran through the Charms alphabet in her head. _A for Acquisition, B for Bestowement, C for Capitulation, D for Detainment, E for Entertainment—wait… bestowement… The Bestowement Charm…_

Hermione felt a grim and weary yet relieved smile spread across her face as she turned onto her back and pointed her wand not at Voldemort, but rather the Elder wand in his hand, and Hermione knew that the charm had to work, it couldn't _not_ work. The Elder Wand might be the most powerful wand in existence, but it should still – theoretically – be as susceptible to manipulation as any other object in existence. A yellow-golden glow began to emanate from Hermione's wand.

"_Bistowen Dominae!_"

The yellow glow from Hermione's wand began to build around the Elder Wand in Voldemort's hand. Hermione watched with smug relief as the Elder Wand was wrenched out of Voldemort's hand and shot into the air, a look of relief that soon turned to horror as its handle slammed firmly into the open hand of Draco Malfoy.

She didn't understand.

The Bestowement Charm bestowed an object only to the said items' owner, how could Draco be the Elder Wands' master? It didn't make sense. Malfoy couldn't be the Elder Wands' master anymore; Harry had won its ownership off of him. Why on earth would it be given to Malfoy when Harry was its master?

Hermione thoughts turned backwards as she endeavoured to understand the scenario from a logical perspective. Dumbledore had been the master of the Elder Wand first, as far as Hermione could tell, after winning it off of Grindelwald in the First Wizarding War. Then Malfoy had won it off of Dumbledore by disarming him of the Elder Wand in their Sixth Year on the Astronomy Tower that night when the Death Eaters had infiltrated Hogwarts and resulted in the death of Albus Dumbledore himself. Then Harry had won the Elder Wand off of Malfoy at the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor, when Harry had disarmed Malfoy of…

It all suddenly made sense.

Harry couldn't have been the master of the Elder Wand because rather than disarming Malfoy of the Elder Wand – and thus transferring its allegiance to himself – Harry had instead disarmed Malfoy of his own wand.

To gain the allegiance of the Elder Wand, one had to disarm or kill its master whilst they were in possession of the Elder Wand.

Everyone in the room was stunned speechless, Hermione noted, as she looked around herself. Harry and Ron – whose presence she happily saw as relieving – were staring at Malfoy with their jaws dropped. Bellatrix, meanwhile, trembled slightly as her eyes darted between her nephew and the wand he clutched in his hand. Even Malfoy seemed astonished by the slim sliver of wood clutched in his hand.

He had never even considered himself to be the Elder Wand's master, Hermione noted with a short-lived bout of pity. She watched as his eyes flicked from the wand to Voldemort as he understood the predicament the wand had now put him in. Malfoy shivered slightly.

Hermione soon saw why as she looked over at Voldemort. It was enough to make her shiver, and she wasn't even the object of his gaze. He looked absolutely furious. Like he was about to break open someone's head with his bare hands – which was all he had now since he'd also lost his wand.

Hermione took a step forward hesitantly, keeping an eye on Bellatrix and Voldemort as she did so. "Malfoy…" She said slowly, and he seemingly snapped out of his stupor to look at her.

"Everybody get back!" He yelled, raising the Elder Wand and waving it around him to make sure no one moved. Yet through some exemplary bout of either courage or stupidity, Hermione still slowly moved forward. They needed him. They could end the war right now with his help. There must be something good left in him if he'd saved her from Bellatrix's curse. He could be the hero. He just needed to be brave enough.

"Malfoy…" Hermione said again, tucking her wand into her pocket and holding up her hands in what she hoped was a gesture of good faith. "Malfoy, you could help us—"

"I SAID GET THE HELL BACK!" Malfoy screamed, his wand movements becoming jerky the more upset he became. Turning on his heel, he ran for the door.

Voldemort was the first to move after him. "Don't even think about it, Tom." Harry said, levelling his wand at the snake-like wizard.

Meanwhile, Ron sent a Stunner at Bellatrix which smacked her onto her side, but didn't knock her out completely. As the red-haired wizard and the Dark witch began to duel, Hermione began running after Malfoy. Following him out into the circular foyer-like room with the doors, Hermione ran over to the only other open door and found herself in the Hall of Prophecy. She hesitated for a split second before continuing onward, her mind turning back to the fight that had taken place in this eerie setting back in her Fifth Year.

Obviously over the last two years they had been able to salvage many of the prophecies that had been smashed in the Battle in the Department of Mysteries, but still there were nowhere near as many as there had been. It was such an immense loss of knowledge that tugged at her heartstrings whenever she thought about it.

_Lumos_.

Light flickered into existence and she peered into the darkness, keeping her bright wand high in an effort to expand the pool of light around her.

"Malfoy?" She called, her voice coming out surprisingly soft and airy with her nervousness before she made to clear her throat and try again. "Malfoy?"

She could see a patch of blonde reflecting the light in front of her in the darkness. Hermione made her way towards it, soon revealing the whole body of the young Malfoy heir to the wandlight.

"I thought… I said… to go away…" His voice was oddly calm for someone who'd been so panicked a short while ago. It set her teeth on edge. His back was to her too, not even looking at her, just staring into the darkness ahead of him.

"I know." Hermione replied steadily.

"Then why are you here? I will kill you if you don't leave."

Hermione frowned. His voice was oddly… devoid. Devoid of emotion and timbre, it was just monotonous and neutral. "Malfoy, what's the matter with you?"

There was a pause filled with silence before Malfoy began to laugh. He laughed and laughed as if what Hermione had said was the funniest thing he had ever heard; the cold, hard tone of which tore at her eardrums.

"The Dark Lord wants me dead, and you ask me what the matter is… I am the master of the Elder Wand, and you ask me what the matter is…? I saved a mudblood I hate from a death she deserves, and you ask me what the matter is…? And even now as I feel the Deathstick consuming me, you ask me what the matter is…? Perhaps it would be better for me to ask 'what's the matter with _you_?'"

He turned to face her at that moment, and Hermione found herself taking an unsteady step backwards from the look of utter contempt on his face. He honestly looked like he could kill her if he wanted to. She wasn't sure what was wrong with him, had the immense power of the Elder Wand overpowered Draco Malfoy's will? She didn't know.

"Look, Malfoy. We can end this war, right now. You don't need to be oppressed by Voldemort any longer, not now that you have the Elder Wand, not now that you can – without a doubt – be the one factor that will help us win this war. Please, help us…"

He looked at her, slowly taking her in. Her hair, face, eyes, body were all subject to his scrutiny, and not a flicker of emotion passed through his eyes. Finally, however, his eyes went back to hers and he moved the Elder Wand up to point at her.

"_Crucio_."

Her eyes widened as she fell to her knees and then further onto her stomach, her arm awkwardly twisting and popping as she landed on it. Her shock dulled her mind from the pain slightly for a blissful moment before it hit her. The excruciating pain. It was worse than anything Bellatrix had put her through, though Bellatrix had never used the Elder Wand on her. It felt like her flesh were boiling and tearing, her bones popping and snapping. It felt like knives were being plunged into every nerve on her body and jagged splinters glass was pressing into her brain.

Hermione tried to keep her mouth closed, tried not to give him the satisfaction of hearing anything, but she only lasted eight agonising seconds before she cried out, and a further three unbearable seconds before she began to scream.

And scream she did.

The pain eventually subsided but still Hermione writhed on the floor in an attempt to shake off the petrifying after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Vaguely, Hermione noticed that her wand arms' elbow was dislocated, no doubt due to when she had fallen onto the floor.

Hermione heard Malfoy walk over to her and squat down next to her. Her overwhelmed brain made her look up at him sluggishly out of some sort of morbid fascination for why he would do something like this for someone trying to help him,

"You disgust me," Malfoy said slowly. "You honestly think that I would help you? I'm your enemy – not your friend. And yet you _pity_ _me_!? Disgusting."

_Turn Us…_

_I'm going to die_, Hermione thought. She'd been so stupid, abandoning Ron and Harry to follow this… this… _Death Eater_. She had thought that he was a good person born into a world of bad circumstance, but no… The brightest witch of the age, Hermione Granger, had just made her first error. And it would cost her her life.

Hermione's left hand clutched the Resurrection Stone in her pocket as she squeezed her eyes closed. "Malfoy… Please – don't do this. We can end this war now. You can be free of Voldemort and—"

_Thrice in hand…_

"—and live with the _mudbloods_ and _muggles_? Don't make me sick, girl. This war is a purge, a purge of all the impurities amongst us. The very air you breathe out is impure and disgusting, and an unforgivable impurity upon society. This purge… will now add you to its body count."

_Wish for another…_

Hermione made a struggled to get to her feet, but made it no further than her knees. "I won't die. Malfoy, you're not… the only one with… in possession of… one of the three Deathly Hallows." Triumphantly, she brought the Resurrection Stone before her, clenching it tightly in both hands in case he tried to force it from her.

_From the Other land…_

Her triumph was short-lived, however, as Malfoy began to laugh humourlessly at her. "That? You think a petty pebble can beat me? The greatest wand in existence? You do realise, stupid mudblood, that that little stone can only _bring back the dead_, right? And I have no intention of using it once you are dead."

Malfoy lifted his wand to point at her, stepping back a few steps to provide himself with ample space. Hermione's hands opened and the Resurrection Stone floated upwards a few inches above her outstretched hands, its usual dark purple appearance turning black as it prepared itself for use. She could feel the magic in the Stone, could feel it entering her own body, mixing with her own magic, making it more fluid and pliable, more powerful and alluring. Strong enough to bring back someone from the dead.

Closing her eyes, she willed the Stone to turn thrice above her hand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione felt it when the Killing Curse hit her chest, knocking her backwards as everything exploded around her into white. She tried to open her eyes but her eyelids seemed to be glued shut, and there was a sharp whistling sound rushing through her ears. It felt like she was free-falling and being yanked upwards, being squeezed and stretched at the same time. It felt an awful lot like Apparating, except… different somehow.

The white that shone through her eyelids eventually dulled to grey, then to black.

And it was then that Hermione awoke.

**A/N: Soooo? What do you think? Does Draco seem in character enough? That is, until the Wand begins to dominate his will? I wanted to demonstrate my point that Canon Draco (the Draco who will be from Hermione's reality) is fairly weak-willed, and whilst not necessarily a bad thing, he isn't really strong enough to repel the corruption that the Elder Wand inspires within people.**

**To be honest, I'm not completely happy with how some parts of this chapter has turned out, but I've gone over them half a dozen times and improved as much as I can, and still some things just weren't coming together. Oh well.**

**Let me know your thoughts on Hermione? Constructive criticisms are also welcome too, so stop on by the review box before you leave, and drop me a review. Because that's what I wait for at my computer screen, refreshing my email every few seconds to see if I have gotten any reviews. Hahaha :D**

**Until next time,**

**Barryium**


	4. The End of Days

**A/N: I know! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me. I know that it's been a long time since the last update, especially since the last chapter kind of ended with a cliff-hanger, which makes my offence doubly unforgiveable, but I'm here now so let's par-tay! (I'm never going to say that ever again, don't worry). I'm not going to bore you with the excuses, but I do feel like I know in what direction this story is heading now – which is good.**

**Thanks to all of those who favourited and followed the story, I hold you dear to my heart. A special thanks to Chapter 3's reviewers: Pimberlee; Lilabeth; FallenCrimsonStar; LiquidLuck007; KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun; ColteeYT; Dancing-Souls; miel04.**

**I value all reviews, and it were these reviewers that made this chapter possible. THANK YOU!**

**So now, please read on to…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: The End of Days<strong>

All was still within the mind of Hermione Granger. An effortless sort of calm that she hadn't felt in… well, probably ever. It felt like she was floating on water, provided with a sense of buoyancy that effectively detached herself from her own feelings and surroundings.

Her eyes watered as she opened them, the room she was in was white. Very white. Wherever she looked her unfocussed eyes could not discern one object from another. She tried to lift her head to see better but gave up when the effort proved to be too much and her neck muscles cracked painfully.

"Mai… Babe… Are you all there? Babe? _Baaaaabe?_"

_My babe? _Hermione thought sluggishly, attempting to order the jumble of thoughts in her head. _My babe… My baby?_ The only person who had called Hermione "my baby" was her own mother, but the voice didn't seem quite right to her. Too smug and… _masculine_. _What? Where am I? Who is that?_

"Oi, Harry. She hit her head pretty hard, don't cha think? D'you reckon her head was supposed to bleed that much?"

The name made Hermione's insides spasm involuntarily as a sudden influx of memories overwhelmed her. Harry fighting Voldemort. Ron crashing through the ceiling. Hermione stealing the Elder Wand from Voldemort only to have Malfoy obtain it. Herself confronting Malfoy on his stance in the war. Malfoy's reply…

"_Harry?!_" Hermione gasped as she jerked forward, her eyes watering. She could just make out his unruly dark hair as her eyes began to adjust and focus to her surroundings. A warm hand pressed itself into the small of her back, rubbing small circles in an oddly intimate and possessive gesture that made her uncomfortable. Frowning, she turned her head slightly to see who the offender was, but she already knew by the flaming red hair before his face swam into view.

_Ron…_

Except he looked different. His hair was gelled back in what was very reminiscent of the way Draco Malfoy had styled his hair in their younger days, his shoulders seemed slightly broader and his stature taller. Yet it was his face that frightened Hermione the most. The face that seemed always poised to give her a warm smile or a perplexed frown was mutated into a sneer and smug expression, an expression that she hadn't thought was physically possible. Especially on Ron.

Her eyes roved around the room, aptly registering that she was in the hospital wing before her gaze rested on the dark haired young man seated in the chair opposite her and the simpering blonde on his leg. Hermione's frown deepened at the pallor of his skin and the oddly empty yet disdainful look on his face. He was staring straight at her, and suddenly he seemed borderline hostile.

He wasn't even wearing his glasses.

Sending Harry a curious look, Hermione's perplexed gaze went to the blonde girl half-sprawled onto Harry's lap, a manicured hand creeping up his upper thigh. The girl was looking at her as she did so, as if to prove a point and she let out a high-pitched screeching laugh as Hermione's brows furrowed in concern.

Hermione's eyes widened as she recognised the blue eyes that were usually accompanied with flaming red hair, which were so similar to Ron's. _Ginny?_

Hermione wasn't sure what shocked her more: the fact that she had bleached her hair blonde, or that she was practically dry humping Harry's aloof form. Her mind spun in confusion. These weren't her friends, but even imposters using a Polyjuice potion would have been acting more convincing.

"Where – What happened?"

"You fell down the Grand Staircase this morning while on the way to breakfast," Ron said, his hand sliding up her shirt, making her squirm. "You were in the middle of showing Ginny how to walk seductively. Made quite an entrance, babe."

Ginny released another high-pitched screech that Hermione took to equate to a laugh. "Perhaps next time you'll focus less on swaying your hips and more on where you're actually going." Ron began to laugh, a deep patronising sound that gave the impression that he didn't expect anything different out of her. Harry, however, just continued looking at her meaningfully.

Rather than it grating her nerves and snapping at him like she would have normally done, a sense of unease rising in her stomach made her feel skittish and confused. This wasn't right. These weren't her friends. Were they under some sort of compulsion? Or was it herself? Was she in a nightmare? Whatever it was, the nauseating feeling in her gut told her to play a passive role, at least for the moment. If she was being set up, she'd play along – for now.

"I – I don't remember," Hermione said finally, lying back down so Ron would either have his hand squashed or would have to remove it from where it was trying to undo her bra strap. Wisely, he chose the latter.

"Can I show her the mirror?" Ginny purred suddenly, interrupting any potential questions that Ron – or Harry, if he ever decided to stop glaring at her – might have asked her. Wait – a _mirror_? What mirror? Harry jerked his head slightly in assent, a corner of his curling as Ginny scampered off his lap to retrieve a hand mirror which sat on a small bedside table next to a wand that Hermione hadn't noticed before. Her wand. The one she'd taken from Ollivander's Wand Shop the week before… _this_ had happened. With feverishly bright eyes and a grin to match, Ginny held the mirror in front of her face, and Hermione noted that Ron had his fingers in his ears and the corner of Harry's mouth had curled upwards into a smirk.

Hermione's felt her eyes widen. If they had expected Hermione to scream, however, at the sight of her appearance, they were disappointed. Her mouth dropped open into an O and a choked sound of horror escaped her throat. Although from all the bruises adorning her face it certainly seemed as though she'd fallen down a flight of stairs, there was one thing about her appearance she had never heard that falling down a staircase would cause.

Her hair was _straight_.

Before today, she had never thought it possible, and over the years she had grown attached to the fact that her hair refused to cooperate to the social norm – retaining its bushy nature for the world to see. But here it was – her hair – straightened out and hanging limp yet stylish around her face. Hermione continued to stare at the mirror and the only thing she could think of was that Hell had finally frozen over.

Sweet Merlin, she looked like _Lavender Brown_!

Looking away from both the mirror and Ginny's smirking face, Hermione settled into the hospital bed feigning a look of indifference that she certainly didn't feel. Something was really wrong here. Something was wrong with _them_. Her friends weren't _her _friends anymore, and it was alienating to look at their familiar faces and see someone different. Her own compassionate Harry was now detached, uncaring and – Hermione was beginning to believe – holding a grudge against herself. The Ron she was in love with was no longer cutely and infuriatingly oblivious, instead, everything he said seemed to be speaking in constant sexual innuendos that were making her feel objectified – and infuriated. And Ginny – Ginny seemed borderline homicidal crazy and seemed to have no problem making lewd hand movements up Harry's thighs and crotch. And she was blonde.

It was insanity.

It was as if she had stepped into another world.

No – now _that_ would be insanity.

"I didn't know that you got a new wand, Mai," Ron said. Pointing to the wand lying on the bedside table. Hermione frowned, she'd already shown it to him back when she had first obtained it. Hermione had constantly whined about using Bellatrix's wand, and it was Ron who suggested that they stockpile their wand supplies, so that anyone without a wand could be armed against the Death Eaters.

Hermione needed to be alone, needed to think without the constant distraction of the people – for she could no longer call them her friends – around her. Her frazzled mind churned out the excuse that she had to fix her hair, and it was only later that Hermione realised that if these people had truly been her friends they'd know that something was definitely wrong with her at the prospect of _Hermione Granger _actually _caring_ about her hair. It was definitely the most obtuse thing she had ever said, but they nodded as if her saying such things was a common occurrence and left the Hospital Wing, pushing past an oddly timid Madame Pomfrey roughly, nearly sending the woman airborne.

Yet another odd thing about this world, because that's all she could explain it as – another world.

She would investigate, she decided as Madame Pomfrey checked her for any lasting signs of any concussions. Tonight, she would go out and figure out what was happening. Hopefully it was just some sort of weird joke and everything would be normal once she left the Hospital Wing.

She wasn't optimistic, however.

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><p>It was well after midnight when Hermione finally left the Hospital Wing, her wand clasped tightly in hand. A young first year had turned up late in the afternoon vomiting profusely, and Madame Pomfrey had tended him with the efficiency of a startled chicken – lots of flapping limbs and no efficiency of movement. And squawking. Lots and lots of needless squawking.<p>

At least staying awake to this hour hadn't been an issue.

Finally though, she managed to leave the Hospital Wing at a time when she would be unnoticed. Alighting her wand with a silent _lumos_, Hermione crept down the corridor towards the staircase. She would head towards the library first, she decided. Throughout her afternoon in the Hospital Wing, Hermione had had much time to consider her situation after waking up in this strange place. For one thing, all the injuries she'd sustained during the Final Battle had disappeared from her body and were replaced with injuries consistent with a spectacular trip down the Grand Staircase. Yet she still possessed the same wand that she'd obtained from before the Final Battle – that fact could not be denied.

But then she'd come up with a hypothesis – one that she didn't like very much. Often she'd read about magic spells and enchantments going awry, with their castor being sent through space and time. At the time, she'd thought it to be impossible to go more than a few hours into the past, or travel to too far a place through means other than Apparating. But then, she supposed, there were deviations to every spell. Countless magical corruptions throughout the ages had proved that magic could be vastly unreliable when tampered with. Which was largely the reason why the Alchemist branch of magic had died out so long ago.

Hermione wondered if even Alchemists would think twice before mixing the Killing Curse with an active Resurrection Stone, however.

Hermione made it to the library without incident and found herself equal parts relieved and annoyed that the prefects who should be patrolling the floors at this time of night seemed to be getting some action with his girlfriend on the fourth floor staircase. They didn't even have the decency to find an abandoned classroom – not that that would have made Hermione any less annoyed at the two. Where on Earth was Filch at this time of night?

Shaking her head, Hermione headed into the library, making a bee-line for the section in the library that could provide her with some answers.

The library held an archive of all English Wizarding – as well as some international – newspapers dating back for the last century. They were extensive and categorised by country and then by date which was helpful for her objective today, but had caused her much strife in the past when researching for assignments. If Hermione were to find anything significant about why this world was so messed up then it would be in there.

Hermione hurried to the back of the library, the silvery light of the moon and her own wand, casting eerie shadows amongst the bookshelves. Figures and silhouettes darting between cases and shelves, seeming to follow Hermione no mattered which aisle she turned down. Perhaps irrationally, Hermione pushed herself faster towards the door leading to the archives, opening it quickly and slamming it closed behind her.

Hermione stood there for a moment leaning against the door and catching her breath. Apart from the chorus of the door slamming echoing throughout the library all was silent and still, but she lingered by the door before continuing forward into the large hall-sized room with stacks of newspapers and articles and documents. Working her way around the stacks, she began searching. _The_ _Daily Prophet_ would be the obvious newspaper choice, although her own experiences with the _Prophet_ had been far less than pleasant _The Daily Prophet_ still had an extensive web of reporters, contacts and resources to provide an indication of what was happening in the world. She found _The Daily Prophet_'s stack on an enormous shelf stretching up towards the room's domed ceiling. There was also a large ladder nearby which one could use to peruse the contents of higher shelves at their own leisure.

The dates that Hermione was looking for, however, were practically brand new when compared to the history that the archives spanned. She was looking for the date of today's paper, two weeks after Battle of Hogwarts. They were a lot further along on the shelf than she had expected. Perhaps this Madam Pince wasn't as pedantic about her shelves as Hermione's Madam Pince was. Pulling out the newspaper, Hermione pointed her lit wand at the front-page and inhaled sharply.

Taking up at least a third of the front page was a picture of herself, Harry and Ron standing against an obviously fake landscaped backdrop of smoking ruins for the camera. Ron and she were in each other's arms on the left-hand side of the photograph with Harry standing to her right with a short but quite noticeable distance between them. It was obvious that there was some kind of divide between the three, and Hermione somehow knew that it wasn't by accident that she – or rather, the Hermione who was in this picture – was between the two. Whatever had Harry clenching his jaw at Ron, or had Ron smirking at Harry as his hands slid down her back to roughly grasp her behind, she felt had something to do with her. But then again, perhaps it was just these versions of her Harry and Ron that made the two boys seem competitive – if it even _was_ competitiveness that she was seeing. Hermione already knew that the Ron she had met in the Hospital Wing was not her Ronald Bilius Weasley – he was way too cocksure and lewd – but perhaps even if her Ron had expressed some of these traits then her Harry would look as angry as he did in the picture. Hermione knew that she certainly wouldn't appreciate it.

Shaking her head at the tangent her thoughts were taking, she moved to analyse the Hermione in the photograph. She was already aware of the current unfortunate condition of her hair so the first heart failure Hermione received was from the length of her skirt – or lack thereof. And – as if to add insult to injury – Hermione watched in horror as the Hermione in the picture leaned up to whisper something into Ron's ear, making him smirk at Harry, before sliding back down his body – hiking up her already ridiculously short skirt in the process.

Trying not to retch, Hermione began to read the article beneath it:

**ORDER TRIUMPHS OVER PUREBLOOD SUPREMACY**

_Following the defeat of the Knights of Walpurgis at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last fortnight by the celebrated heroes Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger _(pictured above; left, right and middle respectively)_, Kingsley Shacklebolt – member of the Order of the Phoenix as well as renowned Ministry official – has taken over the reigns as Minister for Magic after the untimely murder of his predecessor, vampire Rufus Scrimgeour._

_In a hosted press conference yesterday afternoon, Shacklebolt stated, "[pureblood supremacist's] tyranny over society has now come to an end. With the defeat of the so-called 'Knights of Walpurgis' two weeks ago, we know that they have drawn many sympathisers and shelters from pureblood elitists." Following a question asking what he intended to do as Minister for Magic to rectify the situation he responded, "The pureblooded elite are nothing but a scourge of society, they contribute nothing to society and pass judgement from their remote sumptuous manors and mansions. Those that don't agree or oppose them find themselves 'discouraged' by bribes and vicious threats. Their chauvinistic attitudes and upbringings are disgraceful. But no more. Within the next few months – perhaps weeks even – things are going to change."_

_Minister Shacklebolt then announced the approval of his Supremacy Subjugation and Enslavement Act and the Muggleborn Anti-Slander Act by the Wizengamot that morning. "We have a few 'inner circle' Knights of Walpurgis in custody from the Battle at Hogwarts two weeks ago." Shacklebolt announced. "They have kindly obliged us with a list of names of supremacist sympathisers that Aurors are arresting as we speak. We hope that these sympathisers will, in turn, provide us with further names and so on so forth until we have every last terrorist sympathiser in custody." Shacklebolt has also stated that new disciplinary actions are currently being undertaken to aid in discouraging sympathisers, being termed as simply 'Re-education'." _[continued on p. 8]

Hermione balked. If she hadn't been convinced before, she certainly was now. This definitely was _not_ her home, her world, or even her universe. Somehow, by being attacked with the Killing Curse and defending herself with the Resurrection Stone's magic, she'd been transported to this universe. But why did she look like this universe's Hermione? Had assumed this Hermione's body? If so, why did she still have physical objects from her own world like her wand? And where was this world's Hermione anyway?

And what on earth had the article meant by a "Supremacy Subjugation and Enslavement Act"?

The reason why she had gone on this midnight visit to the library was so she could get some answers, instead she just seemed to be full of more questions than before. Her situation seemed to defy common sense at every turn.

Skimming the newspapers with her finger idly as she made to retreat from the room, her finger snagged on the pages and pulled it from the shelf, where it landed on the floor with a soft _whump_. As she bent down to pick it up, her wandlight swept over the page, and she couldn't contain the small gasp that escaped her lips as the dark, misshapen silhouettes in the headlines' picture morphed to take the form of humans. Starved, hunch-backed and chained to posts like animals, they were positioned in rows and aisles going back as far as the pictures' quality would allow. Moving her wand higher, she checked the date.

It was dated August 11 – three months ahead of what she knew the date to be.

Hermione's wand fell to the floor with a clatter. She'd _time-travelled_ as well? This couldn't be happening. She fell to sit on the floor to keep the room from spinning. This was too much. Not just the time-travelling but _all of it_. The impossibility of it all. The transportation over to this universe. The enslavement of wizarding society's pure-blooded elite. This isolating feeling of alienation in a place that she had considered home for so long. Noticing that she was no longer breathing, Hermione forced herself to drag in a deep, steadying breath of air, and slowly exhale. She felt so alone here. No one knew her, or they thought she was some dumb bimbo whose meagre magical skills were solely pointed towards make-up and keeping her hair straight and allowing herself to totter around in obscenely tall heels.

Hermione wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, to keep the tears from leaving her eyes. She missed her Ron and Harry. She missed her Ginny. She missed her world, her parents, even her war to a point. At least she'd known where she had stood. At least she'd known what was happening. At least she'd had friends…

She had nothing here. But she knew without a doubt that this whole situation – this anomaly of nature – was not temporary. Not all enchantments could be undone. She should have died that night in the Ministry – in the Chamber of Mysteries – and it was by some freak accident that she had landed here. And now Hermione Granger was just another mystery to add to the Chambers' collection.

One that she would try her damnedest to solve it.

But for now, she would have to blend in. Assume this universes Hermione's persona, or otherwise risk discovery.

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><p>The boy in the cage spasmed as another cutting hex ripped through his body, this time his shoulder. Once, not too long ago, he had been a proud young man, a reckoning force, the Chosen One.<p>

But he was not yet broken.

Even as another curse ripped his body to pieces and his blood ran unhindered to the stone floor of his iron barred cage he remained strong. Perhaps not physically, but his mind remained in one piece. And although he had finally come to terms with the fact that he would be doomed to an existence of enslavement and torture, and that his dreams and hopes were gone, he clung to his sanity as if it were a life raft.

The deep familiar mocking laugh echoed around the stone walls of his torture chamber.

"You think you can get away with pushing my girlfriend down the Grand Staircase? You're lucky she's alright otherwise I'd kill you."

He said nothing, just continued to lie prone on the stone floor, blinking slowly in a weak effort to clear the blood that had fallen into his eyes. He'd stopped listening to the Weasley's threats a long time ago, and just tried to feel indifference to the red-headed he had despised for much of his time at Hogwarts.

Over the last six months since he had first been mandated into slavery he had spent an excessive amount of time in a chamber similar to this one in the Weasley Manor – the manor that had once been his own home. He knew why he was here now. His master had shoved him as he carried all of the luggage up the Grand Staircase to Gryffindor Tower, and he had fallen back, knocking into beauty queen Granger as she strutted down the Grand Staircase. It had been an accident, but the bint had deserved it.

Ronald Weasley reached through the iron bars and grabbed him by his hair, lifting him up against the bars so that the ugly red '_W'_ brand on his left cheek was easily noticeable even in the dimly lit chamber.

"Do you? _Do you?!_" Weasley spat in his face. He had missed the question, but he hesitated only an instant before replying.

"Y-yes, Master Weasley."

The rage on Weasley's face before he threw him to the stone floor again betrayed that he had answered incorrectly. He didn't even have the strength to break his fall as he landed on his face, breaking his nose on the cold, stone floor that was now slick with his blood. He hoped that he would run out of blood soon, he couldn't take much more of this.

But this was not to be as his master cast a weak healing spell over him that did nothing but clot the blood flow.

And then the torture began again with renewed energy and Draco Malfoy could not help but scream and scream and scream until he had no voice left to scream with.

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><p><strong>AN: So? What do you think? Very much what you expected? We find out a lot about this new universe in this chapter, I think. I'm pretty sure I explained things rather well and in detail, but if there is some kind of huge gap that I'm overlooking, please do share. It can be really hard to remain circumspect on these kinds of things when you're the one doing the writing.**

**Those of you who have read **_**Reverse**_** by Lady Moonglow may find some similarities between mine and hers, but that is as far I will allow myself to take. I in no way intend to rip-off or copy her story. Though this story was definitely inspired by **_**Reverse**_**, and, at times, be very similar to it. I apologise in advance.**

**Now, go drop me a review! :D Until next time.**


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